I roved last night from dusk to dawn lamenting all forlorn!
And stept upon a ring of green beneath a twisted thorn,
The cruel Red Wind o' the Hills came blowing round about–
I heard the clash of fairy swords and the fairies' battle shout.

My eyes were open to the dark, I stood in silent fear,
And saw one move among them was gone from me a year,
Her nut-brown curls so fine and free, her slender shape I knew–
Christ keep us from such sorrow as filled her eyes of blue.

The Gentle Folk were warring for sake of my fair girl–
Their strokes had set the wind to blow and dead brown leaves to whirl.
She saw me, and her little hands were lifted in despair,
Mo bhron! mo bhron! when next I looked nor Sidhe nor ghost was there.

Had I but called on Christ's dear Name and made the holy Sign,
Sweet Una would have safely lain within these arms of mine–
But frozen was my voice with awe that proved my courage vain,
Else I had dared the fairy foe and won my dear again.

Oh, I will wander to the east, and I will wander west,
And dree my penance in the ways that Patrick's feet have blessed,
And maybe where she bides unseen in fairy field or hall,
The blessing of my whispered prayer upon her head may fall.

If in that hour the bonds should break and her sad soul go free
To take the lonely road of death and come no more to me,
I only ask one gift from God–one joy for joys denied–
When Una walks the road of death that I may walk beside.